The collapsed body - that was Mary!

It was a damp autumn Sunday morning. William and Mary were driving on the narrow B1723, through the Kent countryside, going down the twelve-hundred yard long steep incline towards the bend in the road, at the spot known locally as 'Carlton bottom', where it came out of Upper Carlton Wood. At this stretch of the road the trees either side of it were so close to each other that their canopy of branches met above the tarmac; forming the rib-cage of a tunnel. In the summer with a full compliment of leaves on the branches, if there was a cloud cover blocking the sun's full light, it was often necessary to put on the cars headlights to see the road clearly. It wasn't the case that morning as the fast majority of the leaves had been shed onto the ground. The black tarmac road was covered in patches by a mottled hue of yellow, brown, crimson, and golden leaves.

Although their journey to the hospital, to be with their three-year old daughter Samantha, was later than they had planned, William was being careful not to drive too fast, particularly on this stretch of the road. Experience had shown that at this time of the year, with the ground-level mist in the mornings the fallen leaves could impersonate black ice on the road's surface. The tightness of the bend where the B1723 exited the woods was deceptive: several non-local drivers had been caught unaware by the unmarked curve on this quiet country road.

As the car approached the bottom of the incline and the bend William selected a lower gear for the engine, rather than use the brakes, to slow the car a little more. As they safely followed the road to the left they couldn't fail to see the car ahead of them on the right-hand side verge. It was upside down in the ditch against the dense hedgerow.

William stopped his car on the left-hand grass verge, just beyond the crash scene, where there was enough space to get off the road. He and Mary got out of the car as quickly as they could and ran back across the road towards the upturned vehicle.

From the marks on the grass verge it looked as though the driver had misjudged the bend and the car had drifted three feet off the road towards the right. Unfortunately the offside wheels had dropped into the one foot wide concrete drainage gully; that ran for twenty-five yards along this part of the bend; that had been recently installed to eliminate the frequent flooding of the road at this point. The sudden drop of the right-hand side of the car, the gulley taking over control of it, and the g-force on that side of the vehicle because of the momentum of trying to turn left had then resulted in the car rolling onto its roof, possibly twice, and landing in the five feet wide, two feet deep, ditch in front of the substantial Hawthorn and Ash hedge. The car was positioned at a forty-five degree angle to the road. The front section, from the crumpled bonnet to the rear passenger doors, was lying in the ditch and the rear boot section pointing slightly upwards, resting on the side of the ditch furthest from the hedge.

Even in the position and at the angle it was; William recognised the wreckage as a beige 1982 Ford Cortina Mk. V Estate-car: he recognised the number plate even though it was the wrong way up. They had bought that same car when they first moved to the area to start up their smallholding twenty years before. They had used it daily for ten years until they sold it, as they thought for it to be scrapped.

Although it must have come from the same direction as them, they hadn't seen it in front of them at any time. As they ran towards the Cortina the signs were that the accident hadn't happened too long ago. There was steam and smoke rising from the bonnet area and the front wheel on the far side was still slowly rotating.

William was the first to get to the car, going straight away to the nearest front door. With the car being upside-down this was the driver's door. He could see a man, head down, being held in position by his seat belt. His head was against the window with blood running from a cut on his forehead. He didn't appear to be moving. William had to lie down on the grass to look into the car to see if there was anyone else inside: there was only the driver.

“Mary; call 999 and tell them about this,” William shouted, “tell them there's an injured man trapped inside. They need to send an ambulance plus the fire brigade, to cut him out.” Mary ran back to their car to use her mobile phone.

William could see that the driver's and rear doors on that side couldn't be opened, trapped by the bank of the ditch, so he went round the rear of it to try the doors on the other side.

He heard Mary shouting to him: “I can't get a signal neither on mine or your phone. I'm going to drive up to the top of the hill and try there.” With that said she was quickly in their car and driving to a better advantage height.

“OK, I'm going to try to get the driver out,” but Mary didn't hear him.

As soon as he got to the far side of the ditch he could see that the hedgerow was not going to let him open either of the doors. As he went around the rear of the car he thought he could smell petrol. He returned to the drivers door and was relieved to see some movement from the man.

William knocked on the window and shouted: “Hello in there. Can you hear me? Are you alright? Can you move? Are you hurt?” The only reply he received was murmurs and groans. “Hello in there. We've called 999, help should be here soon.” William knew, even though he said it, soon would be quite some time because of their isolated countryside location. “We'll get you out as quick as we can,” but there was no we, only William.

He had to get the driver released from his seat belt and out of the car. He considered smashing the window to reach in to free the driver, but the man's head was against it. He needed the man to help himself, but there was still no meaningful response. Continuing to knock hard on the glass he shouted; “Hello, Hey in the car, Hello, Can You Hear Me?”

In the silence whilst he waited for a reply, William was sure he could hear a crackling noise coming from the engine compartment area. It reminded him of a noise similar to that he often heard from the overhead electricity cables on the pylon near his and Mary's house.

“Help, help me somebody,” came a quiet, slow, slurred response from inside the car.

“Hey it's OK, I'm here and help is on its way,” William reassured the man.

“I can't move. Where am I?”

“You're in your car and you've had a slight accident. What's your name?”

“Brian.”

“I'm William, Brian, I'm going help you until the ambulance and fire brigade get here. My wife Mary has called them. Do you hurt anywhere?”

“All my chest and my right shoulder hurts, and a stabbing pain when I breath. Where am I?”

“You're upside down and suspended by your seat belt, can you undo it?”

After a pause: “No I can't reached the button, and it hurts too much to move.”

“That's OK if you open the window I'll reach in and release you.”

Another pause: “I can't find the handle. Oh God I hurt!”

“OK Brian it wont be too long now.”

William could hear a car's engine, he looked round, it was Mary returning. She was soon standing beside William. He stood up. “Are they coming?” he asked her quietly so Brian wouldn't hear; although he wouldn't have because the window was still shut.

“They're on their way, but it could be ten to fifteen more minutes because of the distance,” and after a short pause, “I can smell petrol.”

“I know so can I.”

“Will; what are we going to do?”

“I've got to try and release him from the seatbelt so we can get him out.”

Suddenly there was a loud pop from the front end. Smoke and a few flames could be seen in the engine compartment.

“Bloody hell! Mary run and get the fire extinguishers from the boot of our car.”

She ran back to their car as fast as she could, kicking of her stiletto high heel shoes as she went. She very quickly returned handing one of the two extinguishers to William. Without hesitation he pulled out the safety pin and squeezed the trigger handle. As soon as the foam started to spurt out he handed the extinguisher back to Mary. “Keep aiming it at where the flames are coming from,” he ordered Mary. He bent down to check on Brian.

“What was that bang?” Brian asked.

“Nothing to worry about.”

“I can smell petrol fumes! I can smell burning rubber! What's happening?”

“Don't worry; Mary's dealing with it; she's sorting it out.”

“You've got to help me get out of here! The car's on fire isn't it? I don't want to be burnt to death!”

“That's not going to happen.”

On cue Mary shouted: “It's out Will, it's out.”

“Problem sorted Brian,” William said as he stood-up to talk to Mary.

They stepped two paces away from the estate car. William summed up the situation: “We can't wait any longer. I've got to get him out now. The fire brigade and medics could be ages and if there's another fire before they get here, with all these petrol fumes around, that could be the end for Brian.”

“You'll have to leave it to them, they'll know what to do. You can't move him, it could injure him more.”

“I think I can get him out through the back door, it's the easiest way.”

“No William; it's too dangerous for you to go into the car. What if a fire starts again?”

“In that case that's why we have to get him out now! I know the inside of this Cortina back to front, I know what I've got to do.”

With that William went to the rear of the upside down car and pushed the rear door catch. To his relief the door started to fall open. The door's gas struts pushed it all the way open.

“Keep your eye on the engine compartment,” he shouted to Mary as he climbed in to the boot area, kneeling on the roof, which was now the floor.

“OK Brian I'm coming to get you out.”

“Hurry, please hurry, the petrol smell is getting worse. Oh God I hurt.”

William's first task was to get the backrest of the rear seat out of the way, to give him more room, so he could go forward. He knew it folded down and where the release catch was, but had to remember everything was the wrong way up. He pressed it but the backrest didn't move out the way; gravity was working against him; it just hung down loosely where it was. He needed to push it up and something to prop it up out of the way. Looking around on the ceiling there was a garden spade. He picked it up, used the blade to push the back-rest up and the handle end was forced against the roof to wedge it there.

He moved forward and was then behind the driver's seat. What was he to do next.

“OK Brian I'm behind you. Listen to me. I'm going to try to take some of your weight off the seatbelt so that I can release it. When I do, you'll slide down, and it will probably hurt a bit but it has to be done.”

He put his arm under Brian's left shoulder and was about to press the seatbelt release.

He heard Mary's shouting: “Will, Will, a fire has started again! Get out of there!”

“You've still got a bit left in the extinguisher and you've got the other one as well. Stop the fire Mary, put it out fast,” he yelled back.

“Hold on Brian here we go, we can't hang about”

The release catch was pressed. The belt was free. William couldn't support Brian enough so he fell, hitting his head on the roof.

“Aarrgghh!” Brian screamed.

William reached up and pulled the driver's seat backrest release lever. He pushed the back up, using the ratchet mechanism to hold it almost horizontal, to give him access to Brian and to give a clearer exit path. Brian dropped down further, he was now laid on his front, his left arm trapped under him, head to the rear of the car and feet against the dashboard.

“Aarrgghh!” he screamed.

“WILL, WILL, its not working I can't put it out! Get out of there, NOW!”

William and Brian knew that because they could smell burning. The engine compartment firewall would protect them for a while.

“Its now or never Brian, we've got to go.”

“Help me! Don't leave me! I don't want to die like this! Don't let me burn!”

William looked to the front of the car and could see the amber glow of flames through the shattered windscreen. His heart was thumping in his chest. He tried to get hold of Brian to pull him but Brian was laid on his front not on his back.

“Sorry, no time to discuss this” William said as he rolled him over onto his back. He knew it wasn't the right move to make, in case it caused complications to Brian's injuries, but the fire was the biggest complication.

“Aarrgghh!” was the only reply from Brian. He was on his back.

“Brian; listen to me. When I lift your shoulders and pull, you have to push like hell with your feet. Do you understand? Push like hell no matter how much it hurts. Here we go. One, two, three, PUSH!”

“Aarrgghh!” They'd moved about six inches.

“One, two, three, PUSH!”

“Aarrgghh!” They'd moved another nine inches.

Dragging Brian out was proving more difficult than William had thought it would be.

Mary had thrown the empty extinguishers away, they hadn't done their job. The engine area was engulfed in flames. She was running back and forth, from the fire to the rear of the car: William and Brian’s only way out.

“WILLIAM, GET OUT NOW. Leave him if you have to,” She screamed. She only used William when she was angry with him. How dare he put himself in such danger. How dare he jeopardise her and Samantha's future. She was angry and frightened.

Then she thought she'd heard the faint sound of a two tone siren in the distance. She was right; there it was growing louder as she listened. Then there was a second two tone to support the first. It sounded like a beautiful duet to Mary. The volume was increasing even more. She turned and looked up the road towards the woods and suddenly saw a flashing blue light. Then there was another. As the ambulance and fire engine entered the tunnel of trees these acted like a megaphone; the four tone duet became a cacophony of sound. Mary could hear the sirens shouting: “We're coming, nearly there, we're coming, nearly there; you're safe now, help is here, you're safe now, help is here.”

Inside the car William's repetitious command and Brian's painful response could still be heard. Mary turned back towards the car to tell the two of them that help was arriving now. There was a bright flash and a whoomph as the flames engulfed the outside of the car.

“NO, OH MY GOD NO!” she screamed.

Inside the Cortina, William could now hear the comforting sirens.

“Push Brian . . . one, two, push . . one, push: we're nearly out and the help has arrived.”

At that instance William saw a bright flash and a whoomph as the flames engulfed the outside of the car.

“I don't deserve to die like this,” he thought “I'm just trying to help somebody to live. I can't leave Mary and Samantha on their own. I refuse to die like this!”

He took a firmer grip of Brian and pulled with every bit of his tiring strength.

“If you don't want to be burnt to death Brian ignore the pain and push with your legs with all your might and keep on pushing.”

They were now in the boot area; so close to the rear door; and William accidentally dislodged the spade used to wedge up the rear seat backrest. The blade of the spade fell down onto Brian's chest whilst the backrest dropped down hitting William in the face. This stunned him for a moment, but he kept hold of Brian. He started to pull again and at last could feel his feet on the edge of the rear tailgate. He could feel the heat of the flames on his face and neck.

Suddenly he felt a power grab hold of him and start pulling him. “There are two of them.” a strange muffled voice shouted. William saw a pair of arms that weren't his take hold of Brian, pulling him as well.

He could feel and see foam being jetted over both of them. He felt a lot cooler. He could see the sky. He was being dragged away from the burning wreckage. He could see two beige robots with yellow heads and yellow cylinders on their backs carrying Brian. There was another bright vermilion ball of light and a very loud explosion.

Next morning when Mary and William, with his bandaged hand and a replica of a sun-burnt face, were driving past the crash site they saw that all that was left of the 1982 beige Ford Cortina Mk. V Estate-car was a charcoal coloured metal skeleton. Everything that could have burnt away had. The charred remains of the hedgerow stretching ten feet either side of the wreckage was testament to the intensity of the fire.

“That was nearly your crematorium: would have saved me funeral costs,” said Mary in a wry tone, belying her feelings about the previous day.

Four days after the crash, whilst visiting Samantha in hospital, William and Mary decided to visit Brian in his ward. When the police crash investigation constable had been to their home, two days after the accident to get a statement, they'd asked after Brian and were informed he was recovering in hospital and his full name.

“Hello Brian, I don't know if you remember me but we met in your upside-down car? This is my wife, Mary, and I'm William in case you've forgotten. I'm sorry if I hurt you or have caused you extra complications when I was helping you to get out.”

“That morning's still a bit hazy but I'll never forget you and what you did. The police tell me you saved my life.”

“What are your injuries?” Mary asked.

“A broken left collar bone, a fractured sternum, two fractured ribs, one broken rib, punctured lung, concussion, a small cut to my forehead and a few scorch marks. Nothing compared to death.” After a short pause he continued: “It probably would have been a fractured collar bone and three fractured ribs before William grabbed hold of me. A bit clumsy of him . . . but hey he gave me my life,” said Brian with a big smile on his face.

“Always glad to be of assistance” said William nonchalantly.

After a few more minutes of chat about Brian's recovery Mary said:” Come on Will it's time to go to Samantha.”

“We must go now Brian,” said William, adding: “we're off to be with our daughter, she's in the oncology ward upstairs.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, what's wrong with her, if you don't mind me knowing?” asked Brian.

“She has a Neuroblastoma, a type of cancer,” replied Mary.

They then went on to explain, in brief terms, more about it and the treatment Samantha was having. They explained to him that due to National Health Service funding restrictions she wasn't able to have the latest type of treatment available. The local Health Trust would not fund the treatment as it necessitated travelling out of the country. They told him about their fund raising campaign, 'The Samantha Hitchins Appeal Trust', so that they could pay for the special treatment themselves.

They got up to leave Brian to recuperate and as they were moving away from his bed he asked: “How much have you raised so far and how much more do you need?”

“So far we've managed £55,940 which leaves us approximately £45,000 more to raise in the next eight months otherwise it will possibly be too late for her,” said Mary, with a tightness developing in her chest and throat, and moisture in her eyes.

“Will you call in to see me the day after tomorrow, I'd like to give a donation to help Samantha's appeal.”

“You don't have to give anything, that's not why we mentioned it,” replied William.

“I know that, but please call in.”

They left to be with Samantha.

Two days later they called in to see Brian as he'd asked. They knew they were to be given a donation and didn't expect much, but every little bit could help them get vital treatment for Samantha. They assumed that as Brian had been driving the thirty-year old Ford Cortina Estate, that they had sold ten years previous when it was worse for wear and ready for scrapping, that money was probably a little scarce for him.

“High Brian, you're looking better today; well on the road for recovery we see,” said William.

“Hi you two, yes I'm feeling better each day, thanks for coming.”

“No thanks needed Brian, we are here everyday at the moment to be with Samantha,” said Mary.

“Yes they are; more than I can ever say.” Mary was about to say something but Brian put his hand up, with the palm facing her, like a policeman stopping traffic. “I won't keep you away from her for too long but there is something I need to say.” He thought for a few seconds and began: “When I was in the car and it caught on fire and you were trying to get me out, William, I thought I was going to die in a most horrific way. You could have left me, and if the roles had been reversed, I'm not certain I would have stayed. You saved my life.” He paused to control himself. “You've given me a future I nearly lost. You and Mary have told me about Samantha and your fight, through the appeal, to get funds to buy the best treatment possible to try and give her a better future. You shouldn't have to fight. A man who risks his life to save another person he doesn't know deserves better.” Another pause to wipe moisture from his eye. “Mary; will you go into my bedside cabinet please; there is an envelope in there with something for the 'Samantha Hitchins Appeal Trust'. William gave me my life, so I want to try to help Samantha keep hers.”

Mary did as Brian asked and opened the envelope. She looked in and took out the cheque that was inside. She quickly looked at the amount in figures written on the piece of paper and read what she thought was an amazing amount of £450.00 from someone she assumed had little money. At the same time she started to say: “Thank you Brian for the four hundred and . . ” She stopped in mid speech, having re-read the cheque correctly this time.

She read: Pay the 'Samantha Hitchins Appeal Trust' the sum of Forty-five thousand pounds: £45,000.00. Sir Brian Richmond.

William rushed forward and picked up the collapsed body, that was Mary, from the floor.

Coincidence or What?

During the last couple of weeks I have been reading a book entitled 'In the blood' [A genealogical crime mystery] by Steve Robinson. I hadn't read any of it for a couple days as I have been concentrating on writing my new short story: late this afternoon I decided to get back to reading the book.

A few minutes ago; at about 18:05 hrs. I read the following sentence: “According to the IGI Mathew Parfitt was christened on November 23^rd, 1803.”

How strange that today is November 23^rd. How curious that November 23^rd is also my birthday, not quite a christening, but close enough.

Is it a coincidence, is it a sign, or what? I think at least it might be an idea sometime for the plot of a short story.

A dedicated bin scavenger

This shows a high degree of dedication to bin scavenging. Did he climb in . . . . .

A bridge comment too far.

Nigel and Sofia were driving through the deserted country roads on their way home having spent the afternoon playing bridge at the Old Ferry country hotel. The bridge group meet there every other Thursday. The location was chosen as it was almost at the centre of the large rural catchment area from where the twenty four regular players originate. The group's meeting had broken up about forty-five minutes ago.

The threatened rain had began to fall and the sun was quickly descending over the horizon. They were later than normal as they had stayed to have a drink and a chat with Bob and Sue about arrangements for the forthcoming week-end. The route they were following was the most direct from the hotel to their home; if you can call a journey through twelve miles of twisting and turning lanes that; but they didn't like to take it in the dark.

Another vehicle on these narrow roads was a rare occurrence: they were surprised to see the old turquoise Morris Marina car pulled into the field gateway with its bonnet up. There was a man standing alongside it frantically waving at them.

“Isn't that that Paul Longman?” Sofia said as soon as they were close enough to see his face clearly.

“Yes, of all the people” replied Nigel.

They had first met Paul and Penelope Longman when they started going to the bridge group six weeks previous. It was Nigel and Sofia’s first experience of playing within a club. They had taught themselves the game from both teach yourself books, and computer programmes on their laptops. Their playing experience had been gained by using several internet bridge websites, testing their skills against both computer and anonymous human opponents. They believed they had progressed well, winning on average about half of the games played.

During the afternoon session, as is normal when playing duplicate bridge, the partnership couples moved from card table to card table playing against different opponents every three or four games. It was a new experience for Nigel and Sofia and so they were a little nervous and felt they were playing a little below their capabilities, but certainly not embarrassing themselves.

Their turn came to sit at a table with the Longmans and play four games. The first three games were played without incident. The Longmans winning the first and third games. At the start of the fourth, because of the cards he held in his hand, Nigel was taking a little more time than normal to consider his opening bid. He decided to have a look at his copy of an accepted bidding aide-mémoire before making his decision.

“If you still need to look at that you should consider whether or not your ability is up to a sufficient standard to play in this Group,” rudely interrupted Paul Longman.

“Is there any rule that says I can't consult it?” responded Nigel.

“No there is not,” replied Penelope Longman, “But we don't think anyone who plays here should need to.”

Sofia gave Nigel one of her authoritative looks saying “Leave it... make your bid.”

The game was played and the victors, Nigel and Sofia, moved on to the next table. The rest of the afternoon meeting went by without any further unpleasant incidents or comment from other players.

As they were leaving they were discussing the attitudes of the Longmans, they thought between themselves, when a gentleman walking close by to them, who they'd seen playing within the group interrupted their conversation.

“Excuse me for butting in, but I heard what you were saying, that you probably wouldn't come to the group again because of the attitudes of a specific couple. I'm almost certain who you are talking about. Other people have complained about their attitude, and they are not well thought of. Don't let them put you off,” he said.

“This is our first time here. We doubt if we'll come again if we're not welcome,” replied Sofia.

“Please come and play again; we want more members in the group; the couple you are referring to don't have a say in who can play.”

They enjoyed the second meeting as they didn't have to play against the Longmans. The third and latest meeting, from which they were driving home, had been going well until they had to play against the Longman couple for the second time. It couldn't be avoided.

Two hands had been played when Paul Longman abruptly commented:

“You're playing far too slow, can you speed up.”

“You have to be quicker, if want to play here” added his wife.

“You are right dear: standards are slipping”

The two remaining games at that table were played under an atmosphere of intimidation. The remainder of the afternoon had been spoilt for Nigel and Sofia.

Since leaving the hotel they had been discussing whether they would continue to go to the 'Old Ferry' bridge group or find another one. Just prior to them seeing the broken-down car Nigel had said: “The comments the Longmans made were unnecessarily abrasive considering it is not a high level tournament, and also normal bridge etiquette seems to have been forgotten, but it is more of an annoyance than a reason for not continuing to go.”

As they got closer to the marina and slowed down, they could see that it was looking rather shabby with large rust areas on the bodywork and the exhaust pipe at the rear was hanging down loosely appearing to be held in place by wire or something similar. The vehicle was showing its age.

They stopped their immaculate Mazda Mx-5 two seater parallel with the old Morris rust-bucket and Paul Longman approached their vehicle. Penelope Longman could be seen sitting on the rear passenger seat of her car, reading what looked like a paper, imitating a VIP waiting for her chauffeur to deal with the problem.

Nigel slowly lowered his driver's door window, so Paul Longman had longer to stand in the rain, and nonchalantly asked: “Is there a problem?”

“Am I pleased to see you, we've been stuck here for forty minutes. You're the first car to come this way. The car's packed up and I can't get it started again. On top of that my mobile phone's battery is flat so I can't call my son to come and help” replied Paul.

“Sounds like neither your car or mobile are up to a sufficient standard to do the job, especially driving on deserted roads like this,” retorted Nigel, with a degree of sarcastic satisfaction.

“Do you have a mobile phone and if so can I use it to call my son?”

“Yes I do . . . but unusually for me, I've left mine at home today.”

“What about your wife?”

“Oh, Sofia doesn't have one.”

“Dam; what am I going to do now?”

After a long pause to consider the next play of his winning hand Nigel said: “Why don't you give me your son's number? As soon as Sofia and I get home to a phone we'll call him to let him know you have a problem and where you are. It shouldn't take us too long, as long as we don't breakdown.”

Having been given the Longmans' son's telephone number Nigel and Sofia continued on their journey home: leaving Paul and Penelope Longman stranded in the deserted country lane on a dark rainy night.

“You've got your mobile with you, you used it when we were making the week-end arrangements with Bob and Sue” Sofia said after a few minutes.

“I know I have. I'll phone Longman junior from it when we get home. I mustn't drive too fast, I must be careful through these twisting and turning lanes.”

Orihuela Council might be going to replace our missing street-name signs.

It could be good news; it seems likely that the Orihuela Council might be going to replace our missing street-name sign.

Following my previous article 'OrihuelaCosta's missing street-name signs' on this weblog, the publication of it in 'The Leader' newspaper, and reference to it in 'ThePost', it seems the influence of modern media and the local printed press has caused a reaction.

Today I received the following email from the Town Hall:

“Buenos días Sr. Sampford:

Para poder gestionar adecuadamente su petición de reposición de placas indentificativas de nombre de calle, le solicitamos nos haga llegar su petición a través de la ventanilla de registro, por medio de instancia registrada, a fin de que el Departamento competente realice las actuaciones necesarias para su resolución.

No obstante, reenvío copia del presente para conocimiento del Concejal de Infraestructuras, Pedro Mancebo.

Sin otro particular, reciba Vd. un cordial saludo.”

[My translation is:

Good morning Mr. Sampford:

In order to be able to act appropriately to your request for the replacement of street-name signs, we ask you to send us your request through the registration window, so your application is registered, in order that the responsible department will carry out the necessary actions for a resolution.

However, a copy of this is being forwarded to the Councillor for Infrastructure, Pedro Mancebo for his information.

Without further ado, yours sincerely.]

I wait with interest. Will a new sign be fitted to our royal blue pole, to give it back its purpose in life, or will they remove it instead? I ponder this question because of the comment Graham added to my initial article.

“we had 2 installed in Calle Leman. One blue post remains at the bottom of the street but no sign, the other blue post was removed by the Council 12 months,the hole filled in and the signpost has never been replaced.We therefore have no indication as to the location of Calle Leman which is the postal address for 5 communities off Calle Leman. I emailed the Town Hall and was, like you was advised that I had to visit the Town Hall to make an Official Denuncia in Spanish!! That was 6 months ago!! Still no action. Will have to make another visit and try again as emergency services are now having problems finding houses.”

What about the other streets with no names?

Has someone from each street got to travel to the magical window in the Orihuela Costa Town Hall?

Why can't the Town Council administration system accept emails as official documented requests and forward a copy of the email to the respective department? It's not too difficult to click on the forward button.

Why can't the Town Hall have a section on its website for residents to complete and register denuncias on-line? If I can think of the idea why hasn't one of the highly paid Councillors, or Councillor's Advisers, thought of and instigated such a system? Just a thought . . .

That illicit evening swim!

It was 9:30 pm when Archie and Denise arrived at their Spanish home, after their two and a half days drive back from the United Kingdom. It had been a long tiring final day as they had decided to miss out another overnight stop. They had made an early start, getting on the road by 6:00 am, and if the major road accident in the road works on the Valencia section of the A7 motorway, hadn't delayed them for those two hours, they would have arrived closer to their schedule.

Although it was the first week in October the temperature during the day, according to the car's external thermometer, had been between 32° and 35° centigrade, especially on the high plateau driving between Zaragoza and Valencia on the A23 and now it was still 24°. The air-conditioning in the car had helped to lower the heat, but the problem had been that their journey during the day was predominantly southerly and so the sun's hot rays had been shining directly onto them through the windscreen. They had not been able to keep as cool as they would have liked so were feeling hot and weary.

Archie had been the driver all-day, and although he hadn't admitted it to Denise, his energy reserves had seemed to have been completely drained as he turned off the car's ignition. Being a little overweight in the heat didn't help. He could feel one of his migraine type headaches beginning and there was a little zigzag distortion of the vision in his right eye, as often happened when he had an optical migraine. He thought that a quick dip in the Community's swimming pool might help him relax, as this usually helped relieve the symptoms.

“Denise let's put the suitcases in the house and then go for a relaxing, cooling, quick plunge in the pool before we unpack,” suggested Archie.

“It's a good idea love, but we can't. The pool area is closed now, as it's October and it's after 9:00pm,” replied Denise.

“It's only the fourth today and up till the end of September it's open till 10:00pm. I don't think anyone will object.”

“It would be nice, and as the holiday-makers have probably all gone, so there will only be usual few neighbours about, probably nobody will see us.”

“That's it then Dee, a dip it is.”

A few minutes later in their swimming costumes, as dusk was quickly changing into night, they quietly slipped into the pool, like marine commandos, both uttering a contented, muted, “aaahhh”.

They sat on the bottom step of the four semi-circular tiled entrance steps, situated halfway between the shallow and deep ends of the pool. The cooling water lapping over them. With Archie being taller than Denise it only reached halfway up his chest, whereas it covered her shoulders, he moved down one more level and sat on the bottom of the pool.

Fifteen minutes had gone by but Archie's migraine symptoms hadn't started to ease, like he'd hoped.

“I'll just swim to the deep end and back and we'll get out shall we?” Archie said as he pushed off and began his slow breast-stroke. Denise didn't understand what he said. It sounded a little slurred like the speech of a drunk.

When he reached the far edge and turned to return to the steps Denise noticed that something didn't look right with him. His ever present smile had gone, replaced by the drooped look of a sad clown. His arms didn't seem to working in unison as he was trying to swim. He wasn't making any progress.

“Are you alright Archie?” She asked.

Archie didn't or couldn't reply. Sensing that something was seriously wrong with him and the danger that he was in, being in deep water, Denise swam towards him to help him to the safety of the edge of the pool and shallower water. She took hold of his hands and kicking her legs swam backwards towards the steps with Archie in tow. Although at nearly six feet tall, and twice her weight, he towered above her on dry land: in the water she was the master. Her swimming power, the fact that he floated well and he put up no resistance, soon had him back to the safety of the steps. They had often joked in the past that when he tried to swim to the bottom of the pool, or the sea bed at the local beach, he invariably stayed near the surface with his bottom breaking the surface like a beached whale.

Denise was wondering what was wrong with him. It was then she remembered the public health campaign notices she had seen on the television, whilst in the United Kingdom, about the signs and symptoms of a stroke; Face-Arms-Speech-Time. She realised that she had to get Archie out of the water and get him medical help fast.

“Come on Archie we have to get out of the water now and get you some help quickly,” she said as she stood up, took hold of his arm and tried to assist him up the steps. There was no response.

“Archie stop playing around we have to go!” There was no movement. Denise knew there was no chance of her getting him out of the pool on her own, with his weight and size compared to her strength.

Because of the time in the evening; because of the darkness of the night, the shutters were down on the windows of the properties in the Community that surrounded the pool. Nobody would see them in trouble. It had been a great benefit when everything was alright with their illicit out-of-hours swim, but now it was different.

The only way to attract someone's attention was to shout loudly “Help! Help somebody help!” and Denise did, with all the volume she could muster, several times but with no result. What few permanent residents there were at home at the time were tucked up in their lounges with the shutters down and their televisions or radios turned on. Just when she and Archie needed neighbours to be sitting on their terraces or balconies, taking in the night air, drinking a cool beer or white wine, there were none!

Denise continued shouting and holding onto Archie in the water on the pool steps for what seemed an eternity. She tried again to coax Archie to help her get him out of the water but again there was no response, he seemed to be slipping in and out of awareness of where he was. She didn't find it too difficult to keep him on the steps, because of his placidness and his natural tendency to float in the water, so she didn't need physical strength for this. Her two priorities were to get Archie onto dry land and medical care. It crossed her mind to leave him in the pool, on the steps, alone for a few seconds, whilst she ran to the closest neighbour's apartment to get help. But what if there was no one at home at her first choice and extra time was taken to knock on alternative doors. Which would she choose. With the shutters down there was no light escaping from the windows to show if anyone was at home. She'd never been a gambler and decided it was not the time to start.

The only choice was to keep on shouting ““Help! Help somebody help! Is there anybody who can help!” and she did louder than before. Her chest was beginning to hurt and her throat was dry.

“Who's there?” said the man returning from walking his dog.

“Dave! Is that you? It's me, Denise, I need your help, Archie is ill, we are in the pool. Hurry please hurry!”

It seemed like only a split second before Dave was standing beside Denise on the pool steps. With their combined strength and Archie's buoyancy they lifted him enough to unceremoniously roll him over the edge of the pool to the safety of the patio area.

“I think Archie is having a stroke! He needs an ambulance,” she said, as she was covering him with their swimming towels to keep him warm.

“No problem; I'm onto that,” were Dave's parting words as he ran to his house, water splashing from his sodden trousers and squirting from his flooded shoes; his dog running and jumping behind him thinking this was a good game.

“Archie; Archie; don't worry love we''ll soon have you some help now,” Denise said in her the best reassuring voice she could manage.

Dave returned with his wife. “Carmen has spoken to '112', as its better to talk to them in Spanish, and an ambulance is on it's way. She told them that you think Archie has had a stroke,” Dave confirmed to Denise.

“Did you hear that Archie? Help is on its way, hold on love,” said Denise, although she didn't think he'd understood it, as she put the blanket over him that Carmen had brought out.

The quiet of the night air was soon broken by the sound of a not too far away siren. The growing loudness of the two tone was a welcome noise. Dave ran to the entrance gates of the Community to open them to let the SAMU ambulance in. From the moment the Advanced Life Support Ambulance arrived and the medical crew of an emergency physician and emergency nurse took control of caring for Archie. The night then became a muddle to Denise. Her task of looking after her love was done for the time being. Her close friends and neighbours, who by now had come out of their houses because of the siren, took control and began caring for her. Dave and Carmen went with her to the hospital to support her and for Carmen to act as translator so that Denise knew exactly what treatment Archie was receiving. It was a long long night.

A week had passed. Archie had progressed from the intensive care unit to the high dependency unit and was it was hoped that soon he was to be moved to a general medical ward. His improvement, having suffered from a confirmed stroke, was slower than Denise had hoped, but never-the-less was progressing. Those of her neighbours who were true friends had helped with her visits to the hospital, her shopping, cooking her some meals and helping with the housework.

She was sitting in her lounge, drinking a mug of fresh ground coffee, reflecting on what had happened since their return home from the UK and that unforgettable night. How foolish they had been to have gone for a swim when the pool was closed. A swim that could have resulted in Archie's death.

She started opening her and Archie's mail that she had ignored for the last week. There was a letter from the Chairperson of their Community; dated just two days after Archie was urgently admitted to hospital.

Dear Archie and Denise Batersby,

I am disappointed that on the 5^th October you chose to use the swimming pool at approximately 9:30 pm in contravention of the Community's rules for 'Use of the Community Swimming Pool'. This letter is a written warning, in accordance of the Community's rules, advising you that a further contravention may result in a fine of 50€. Any subsequent contravention may result in an additional fine or withdrawal of your right to use the pool for a period of three months. I hope I will not need to write to you again about contravening Community rules.

Yours sincerely,

Clarisa Fortesque-Smythe

la Presidente

Community of Owners

Denise read the letter several times. Her emotions built up from disbelieve, at the contents and the timing, to annoyance and finally anger. She and Archie had crossed swords with Ms. Smythe, in the past; during Community management meetings, voting against some of her proposals; with noise problems from her two Pekingese dogs with their constant 'yap yap yap' when left alone at home, day and night. Denise could not believe the insensitive and vindictive nature of this letter.

She had kept her emotions bottled up, she'd had to, to get through the last few days, but this letter acted as if the ring pull had been opened on a shaken can of Archie’s' favourite beer. The tear drops started in the corner of her eyes and turned into a flood as her crying turned into deep, chest hurting, sobbing. After a while she felt she was back in control and decided to show the letter to Dave and Carmen. Yes she and Archie had been wrong to have that plunge in the pool, but Denise didn't need the point to be rammed home to her within the week of that traumatic evening.

“Hi you two, what do you think of this from that Smythe woman?” Denise said as she thrust the letter towards Carmen as she opened her front door.

“What is it?”

“An edict from Ms Perfect-Smythe.”

“Come in whilst Dave and I look at it.”

Having read it and read it again Dave said, “Just ignore it. Unfortunately Archie, and probably you, wont be using the pool for some time and besides winter's coming so the water will be too cold for anyone to use it.”

“That's not the point. How can she think of writing that letter to us at this time,” Denise retorted. Her level of anger was building again. “I'm going to see her now and tell her what I think of her letter,” she said as she quickly took the letter back and got up to leave.

“No don't do that, you know what she's like, she's not worth it,” replied Carmen; but too late to stop Denise.

“I'll go after her to stop her doing anything silly,” Dave said as he chased after Denise.

The quickest route from Dave and Carmen's to Ms Smythe's was to cut across the pool patio area, where Archie had lain the week before, rather than follow the circular perimeter path. Denise chose that short route ignoring the warning sign about slippery wet surfaces.

“Denise, wait! Think about what you're doing,” Dave shouted.

She heard him and turned to reply. Her foot slipped on a wet patio tile and then she heard a loud crack from her leg at the same time as she was looking up at a clear azure sky and her body hit the floor with an almighty thud. When the anaesthetic wore off, and her head cleared, she found she was in bed, in the same hospital as Archie, with a plastered, elevated, leg.

Dave was proven right: neither Archie or Denise would be using the pool for a considerable period of time, if at all, and certainly not for another illicit evening swim.

Why crisis management in Orihuela Council?

The three Councillors leading the parties making up the Orihuela Town Council tripartite government would appear to be well educated people. I believe one is a solicitor and the other two are teachers by profession.

So how come they don't seem to have the abilities to make their parties act as an effective government for the municipality, for the benefit of the inhabitants?

Why do they act as if their policies are based on crisis management rather than forward looking objective management, which would lead to a better future for their constituents?

They remind me of fairground dodgems going round and round in circles until they bump into something (problem) and then change to a new random, unplanned, direction.

Who is responsible?